Give the Lie
by Avery
Summary: A surprise attack by unnamed enemies. A rescue mission for their Administration. The truth of their war. The Mercenaries are about to learn a lot of things they never cared to know, all in the span of one terrible night. The answers- and all the questions those answer beg- will drive them from their familiar battlegrounds to landscapes they never imagined.


Red light and silence. One timeless moment he was in dream (oil, blood, sand, walking somewhere very far away), and then Engineer was awake, eyes open, breath held. Something was wrong. Danger. Benefit of living in a warzone: you wake up mighty quick when you need to. He felt the cold of his pistol under the pillow, and took stock.

Over his doorway was a bulb protected by a metal cage, and it pulsed crimson. It was the only light in the room, his window obscured by makeshift shades, so every time the red glow faded to nothing he was left with darkness, silence, an eerie green retina burn, and nothing else. Engineer didn't ever remember seeing that light before, and he'd sure as shit never seen it turn on. A midnight attack? BLU? No. God damn it was going to take some adjustment … not BLU. Then robots.

But he heard nothing. The Announcer was silent. There was just the light, dimming, glowing.

Engineer eased himself into a sitting position. Maybe it was a malfunction, but the gooseflesh on his arms said different. A man lived and died by his intuition, and his said that hellfire and brimstone were coming on. Everything *felt* wrong. Like a storm'd brewed up over night and was creeping over the hills, pocked full of funnel clouds.

"Aw hell." He whispered, and slid out of bed, white undershirt and shorts complimented only by the weapon in his hand, and the weapon that *was* his hand. His joints were stiff with cold. This house was so quickly constructed after that spaceship destroyed his last one, guess he didn't count on winter or it's effect on his knees. he was getting too old for this. Maybe it was time to diagram up some new legs. Robots, attacking a man in his own home! Grey Mann'd gone too far this time.

It was a good thing he knew his dorm by heart. Picking through this mess was difficult enough in the day; by this light, anyone who didn't know the lay of every stray bolt and wire was likely to end up face down. He paused outside the door to listen for anything at all: the rustlin' of his teammates rousing themselves from their own beds, or the clank of machine parts.

Wait. Why the hell would his team be in his house?

He wasn't *in* his house, he was in his dorm. In the base.

Which base? But … he'd gone home last night, hadn't he? Peeled out bloody but happy, victorious, smiling through the smell of ozone and sitting high next to a pile of money.

He didn't *have* a dorm. He had a house he built near enough but definitely not on RED land. His own homestead. Where he lived, alone, and the guys had never come to visit, 'cept for Pyro who came every Thursday night, when they had a campfire. He could see it now, nearly smell it, strumming on the guitar while the firebug played with the blaze, beers in the cooler, Demo yarning like he did about Nessie or Bigfoot or trying to get them to sniff out Area 51, Scout kicking back those sugar bomb sodas, Heavy and Soldier, playing cards, Sniper sometimes—

And then they'd go back to their rooms, belly full of drink and friends, fuel for the fight tomorrow. The barracks were close enough to the battleground that all it took the next day was an hour for breakfast, a quick shower, and all your gear was right there.

A leisurely breakfast after watching dawn spill over his very own patch of gravel, coffee in a tin pot on the woodstove, driving his pick-up down the dusty roads until Teufort rose up outta the desert like a mirage.

Home.

Home.

His vision was swimming.

Problem solving brain kicked in. Gas, or he'd been drugged. Would not have been the first time Medic had slipped a little something extra into their food, but they'd tanned his hide but good for that whole LSD experiment, so Engineer doubted he'd be curious enough to try again. On his workbench was the mask he used around particularly malodorous chemicals and he grabbed it just in case.

Engineer opened his door and came a hair's breadth from blowing Spy's balaclava'd brains all over the hall. "Fils de pute!" Spy flinched, throwing his hands in front of his face. "Lower your arm, laborer!"

"Spah." He complied, though wary. "Don't suppose you know what's going—"

"Non." The man fair spat the answer. Engineer frowned, now noticing that Spy was keeping his back to the wall best he could. He was all nerves and no knowledge, same as Engineer. And if Spy didn't know? It was an official emergency. Boy had his fingers in all sorts of informational pies, and knew their missions a week before the rest of them— Hell, Engineer wouldn't have been surprised if he knew the missions before they'd been thought up. This weirdness had him by surprise and Frenchie wasn't happy about it. Spy's eyes flickered to the mask Engie was gripping to his side, and raised a brow. "A present for Pyro?"

"You feelin' a little funny?"

"I am feeling ill-rested and more than a little irritated, but not, eh, funny." His raised brow crinkled. "You are?"

Engineer wasn't stupid enough to think that was concern in Spy's agitated question, not for him, anyway. "A mite unnerved. Nothing from the Announcer, right?"

"Not a thing."

"Then we better rustle up the others and find out what the hell's going on, huh?" So much confidence in his voice. Spy wouldn't be fooled but maybe Engie could pump himself up. The confusion over his supposed location was fading a little, and Engie decided there not to give it another thought until this crisis was over, Probably was vestige of a dream deciding to hunker down in his subconscious or a little too much whiskey the night before.

Almost simultaneously, another of the doors opened: Medic, hair ruffled, adjusting his cuffs and wiping sleep from his eyes. In the fluctuating red lights, Engie and Spy must have made a startling pair because he jumped and clutched his chest. "Mein gott!"

"Bonjour," Spy said, dry as a creek bed come summer. "Welcome to our emergency war meeting."

"Vhat is this? Vhat is going on?" Medic adjusted his glasses. There was a small piece of paper stuck to the side of his face, and Engineer guessed he'd fallen asleep over his notes, again. Medic noticed it at the same time and snatched it away, mock coughing.

"We don't rightly know, Doc. But we were thinking it was about time to get everyone up and find out."

They all heard it. Even if the base wasn't so silent, and their senses weren't honed by the creepy awakening, they would have recognized it. It was a sound that ran in their blood: a gunshot. Sharp, short. Singular. And not from here.

"Blu." Engineer stated. "What in Sam Hill?"

"Enough standing around." In the moments Engineer had been distracted, Spy's fancy silver gun had appeared in his hand. Medic was frozen, eyes narrowed, head cocked. They all looked like rabbits smelling the fox. Spy lowered the Ambassador marginally, but he did not put her away. "I am going down to the control room to contact the Announcer and try to sort this mess out. You two rouse the sleeping children."

Engie would have argued. He hated Spy ordering them around, like he had any goddamned idea what real battlefield tactics were like, but it was the right thing to do in this case. His cozy relationship with the higher ups was going to give him the better chance of hailing RED headquarters, who were notoriously hard to reach these days— what with the death of their boss and all. Spy melted down the hall, the lights illuminating him further gone with every pulse, until he was nothing at all.

And him still standing here like a dumb sow waiting for slaughter. Engineer let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and started after Spy, but Medic stopped him. "Sniper is in his disgusting van. Dummkopf. I varned him about the cold." He sneered, but clearly it wasn't the cold he was worried about. Engineer nodded, and Medic turned his attention away before he was grabbed by the shoulder, not unkindly.

"Doc?"

Clearly annoyed, Medic adjusted his glasses again. "Vhat now?"

"You didn't happen to get a little … pharmacology happy, didja? Not curious bout some new concoction, thought you'd give it a whirl?" He couldn't help it if the Gunslinger tightened a little on the good doctor's shoulder.

Medic's tilted his chin, and it just so happened that the red light caught on his glasses so that they flashed and obscured his eyes. But Engineer heard the nervous titter and felt the twitching muscles. "Nein, nein mein freund! Vhy?"

Engineer released him, clearing his throat. "Just covering all bases. Alright. See you soon, doc."

Medic wasted no time to pounding on the doors, barking in German, and Engineer didn't wait once he heard scout starting to whine. The thought of venturing out alone into the snowy maze of Barnblitz wasn't exactly appealing, but damned if he was going to leave a man to whatever fate was out there. Dammit Campground, why'd you have to go hide in your durned van again? He always ran off after a battle lost, the varmint. Nursing his pride in solitude while the rest of them found some solace in a good old drunken kvetchin'.

In the next hall, the lights weren't going at all, and Engineer had to walk carefully, his heart hammering in his ears. They'd been through a lot of bloodshed, explosions, even hauntings, so it weren't noise that frightened him. It was this stillness and silence. Very quickly he was out of the range of anyone's voices, and then at the exit—where he realized he wasn't wearing nothin' but his pajamas. His still-damp snow boots were little comfort.

Cursing Sniper's professional name, he darted out into the night.

Herding cats would have been an easier job. Herding pigeons certainly was and they moved in all spatial dimensions. "Nein! I do not know! Heavy, stop asking so many questions and keep — Scout— SCOUT YOU STAY RIGHT THERE. Ach, Soldier! Ve are not enemies! Put zat down right now, or so help me, I vill make sure zat 'boot up your ass' of vich you are alvays speaking is no metaphorical flight of fancy!"

"I don't know what medical flights you want to take me on, Fritz, but I am not leaving American soil! These boots are staying right here!"

So much for being quiet. The only one Medic *wasn't* worried about was Demo and that was because he was slumped against the wall with his head locked between knees, staring at a seedy pitch of vomit everyone else was trying very hard to avoid. Alright, let's see, Archimedes, check— his friend gave him an affectionate nip on the finger as he stroked the bird's back. Soldier, yes, of course, check. Demo check, Scout check, Heavy check, Engineer was out fetching Sniper, Spy was accounted for, and himself, of course. Leaving only …

"Doktor, where is little Pyro?"

Medic frowned, soothing himself by running a finger along the smooth feathers of Archimedes' wing. "I do not know. I knocked."

"HAS ANYONE SEEN LITTLE PYRO?"

"Heavy, hsst! Shh!" Medic grabbed him by the collar. "If there are enemies nearby, do you want them bearing down us on vhen ve are still in our Leiderhosen?"

Heavy looked down, as if only now aware of his Skull and Crossbones jammies, but before he could say anything Scout interrupted, leaning on Heavy's massive shoulder. "Yo, Doc, you check the local freakshow? I hear they need someone to scare the kiddies."

"Zat is not helpful, sheißchen." Medic ground his teeth and felt all the relaxation of sleep quickly leaving him. A headache was developing under his left temple, a steady pulse in time with the lights, and that was the rhythm to which he knocked again on Pyro's door. "Pyro, vake up! Ve need you out here. Raus, raus!"

Hard to hear over the din of Scout and Soldier starting to argue. Medic pressed his ear against the door. No one had ever been in Pyro's room, even Scout, who had rifled through all of their belongings to steal nudie mags and cigarettes and whatever else the little Kleptomaniac could get his hands on. Through the cheap wood, he thought he heard a low moaning, though perhaps this was only an imagined soundtrack for his daydreams of murdering his stupid, loud teammates. Heavy leaned in over Medic and the bulk of the man's body helped shield him from the cacophony. Medic stilled his breathing and waited.

Yes, there it was again. A muffled keening.

Praying that he wasn't about to become voyeur to the most disturbing of masturbation scenes, Medic nodded to Heavy and the door. Bless his partner in violence— without words, Heavy knew just what to do. He stepped back while Medic jumped to the left, and with one stocky leg, he kicked through the door.

The crack of Pyro's door coming to pieces shocked Scout and Soldier into silence. Absent the din, Medic heard whimpering from a dark corner, behind the spartan metal frame of the bed. Gooseflesh tickled his forearms; always would he thrill to hear someone weep. But now wasn't the time for *that*. Wrinkling his nose against an unholy miasma of gasoline, unwashed body, and an unnamable chemical tang, Medic entered the shadows. Heavy came behind, dimming even the ambient light.

The bed frame had been pushed away from the wall, and in the space between the metal and the wooden slats, Pyro was curled up in as tight a ball as the human body could manage. Medic recognized him by his gas mask, barely visible through the gloved hands curled around it. His asbestos suit was replaced by a fleecy onesie decorated with smiling rubber duckies. The effect was ghastly. "Pyro? Vhat is this? Get up, man, zis is not ze time for crying like a little Fraulein."

Heavy elbowed him. Medic recovered from the staggering force and glared, though he doubted Heavy could see it. The irony of Mr. "Cry Some More!" giving him trouble over his bedside manner was not lost. "Pyro, what is wrong?" Heavy leaned over the bed. The metal groaned, a disquieting sound under the circumstances, and the huddled Pyro shivered away. "Do not be afraid. It is only Heavy."

"Yo, what's wrong with Mumbles?"

Medic could see Scout's head outlined in the door frame..Nosy little brat. Heavy ignored his question and pat Pyro on the shoulder, cooing in Russian. It seemed to soothe the patient some. Medic came around the bed to get a better look, and though Pyro flinched, under Heavy's hand he did not jerk away when Medic knelt down. "Are you injured?" Hard to see in the light, but Medic thought Pyro shook his head. "Are you sick?"

A nod.

"You want some Pepto-Bismol, pal? 'S what my ma gives me when I ain't feeling so hot." Scout was now looming over Medic. Pyro shook his head again and said something into his hands, which didn't help with audibility. Medic shoved Scout back, ignoring his protests, and leaned in closer.

"Speak up, mein friend. I cannot understand you."

Pyro lifted his masked face, the incongruous mix of featureless apparatus and cheery ducklings bordering on obscene. "Mm hudda mm mmphmm."

Medic looked to Heavy for translation but he shrugged, just as helpless. "Vhat?"

"Ee said ee's havin' a nightmare."

Slurred words from the entryway. Demo was swaying, but with the help of soldier and the splinters of the door he managed upright. Clearly still drunk— no one understood Pyro better than Demo when he was betrunken.

"A nightmare? Oh, come on!"

This time, Medic didn't need to threaten Scout— Heavy did it for him. He yanked Scout close by the collar of tee shirt and growled into the boy's face. "Do not make fun of little Pyro, baby Scout, or I will make sure *you* have nightmare."

"Yeah? You want to try, fat stuff?"

"Cut it out, fer crissakes! Can't you see the lad's in need of real help, not a buggerin' by the lot of ye? Move!" And Demo stumbled out of Soldier's grip, pushing past his fighting teammates and careening around the bed. His breath almost bowled Medic over as Demo slumped against him, but if he was going to get anything out of Pyro, a translator was necessary. Lip curled, Medic let Demo do his magic. "Ey there, laddie. Come on now. Look up. There's a good boy. Alright, now. Shh. You're not having a nightmare no more. You're awake. It's just some fookin' lights, nothing ta be frightened of."

"Mmph ma hummd ffmma dum!"

Demo squinted. "He says that he's, eh, hallucinatin'."

"Hallucinations?" Medic blinked. "Vhat are you seeing?"

Pyro put his head into crossed arms again, and they both had to lean in closely to hear a thing. "Mmph. Mmffi. M phhmm hmm."

"Blood. Fire. It looks like hell." Demo rubbed his good eye. "He's scared as a gel with her skirts up, Doc."

"Right. Vell, I cannot do anything here. Ve need to find out vhat else is going on. Can you convince him to move so ve can get going?" Blood and fire? In what world did those constitute a nightmare, for Pyro of all people? Certainly, not a one of them had issues with blood, and maybe some of them took a little more pleasure in it's spilling than most. Maybe some of them even spent a little personal time alone after a particularly gruesome fight. Everyone had their proclivities. Medic understood. He thought Pyro was one of the most … excitable about such things. Maybe not in *that* way, but the whole team had shared their grudging respect— bordering on fear— for the joy in Pyro's hooting and laughing watching an enemy burn. Screaming.

Heavy and Demo coaxed Pyro out. Scout started to laugh when he saw the pajamas but stopped of his own accord when he saw how stricken Pyro seemed, how bent and cowering. Medic couldn't help thinking of Humiliation: when Scout shivered and sucked his thumb, Pyro stood impatient. To see him bowed under the weight of fright killed Scout's amusement, if not his questions. He followed them out. Medic lingered in the door a moment, considering, forgetting Soldier was still there until he threw an arm in front of the doctor and brought them helmet to glasses. "I know what this is, Fritz. I've seen it before."

"Really, now? Care to enlighten me, herr Soldier?"

Soldier looked round the hallway, searching for any eavesdroppers tiny enough to remain unnoticed in the five foot space, then brought his voice down low. "Shellshock. Fells the best of men." With that he stood and jogged after the others.

Shellshock.

Hmm.

Barnblitz was a confusing mess at the best of times. Far over a tangle of wooden lean-tos, structures of dubious purpose, and locked gates was Blu's base. He could imagine cold metal and glowing eyes working their way steadily toward RED, their bolted weapons already slicked with mercenary blood. Engineer paused despite the icy wind already freezing his nervous sweat, and listened for clanking. It wasn't like the mechanical nightmares were quiet, but he heard nothing. Nothing at all.

Maybe it weren't robots.

And if it weren't robots … he wandered toward the one gate that lead outside the complex, where Snper's van was parked. Making a racket wasn't the smartest choice so he didn't pound on the Camper door, only reached up to lightly tap it when it swung open of it's own accord. Engineer jumped so far he must have made Scout proud.

"Bloody hell, hardhat!" Sniper clutched at his chest, pulling the door open the rest of the way. He was whispering. "Nearly scared my pants off."

"You aint' wearing pants." Engineer retorted, glancing around to make sure no one had snuck up on them in that moment of surprise. Sniper snorted, but Engineer saw him scanning the landscape as well.

"And you ain't wearing nothing but. C'mon, mate. You're shaking in your pointers. Warm up." He moved aside so Engineer could come in. This was the first time Engie had ever been in the van. It was unsurprisingly messy, though he was pleased to see there wasn't any, er, "Jarate" laying around. Smelled like hand rolled cigarettes and kerosene, the latter from a surprisingly efficient little heater. Engie stamped his feet and moved closer to it, while Sniper gazed into the dark before shutting the door with a dark grumble. "I'm guessing this isn't a social call, casual dress aside. What was the shot?"

"You heard it, too?" Engineer blew into his one fleshy hand. "Where from, you reckon?"

"Blus." No doubt in his voice. Good. Same page all the way. Sniper rooted around in the piles about his bed, pulling out a pair of stained trousers.

"Hear anything else?"

Sniper paused while pulling on his socks. "I might've. Couldn't be sure, but something woke me up—could've sworn it was a scream, mate. Got me worried but I thought it might have been a dream—til the shot."

"Alarms are going off in the base. Well, sort of. Lights but no sound." Engineer handed the Bushman his hat, jealous that he didn't think to get dressed. "Eerie. Spy's checking it out but I have the terrible feeling that someone is trying their damndest to make sure we got up without too much noise."

His kukri, his rifle, his Huntsman, all in easy reach. Sniper was equipped and ready. "The robots again?" He reached into a little cabinet Engineer hadn't even seen and pulled out a ratty looking coat, tossing it into Engineer's lap without a word. Engineer pulled it on and stood up to go.

"Not a chance in hell. It's too quiet out there."

"Not for long, I'll bet."

Keen cold prickled away the last of his shock and sleepiness. Engineer was already drawing up tactical plans, adjusting for the unknown best he could. Sniper sucked in a deep breath and searched the upper story windows and ramparts, his rifle slung over one shoulder, Huntsman over his back. Cautious. Not panicked. Hard to tell with that long and stony face of his but Engineer thought he might look a tad excited. Under that reserved exterior, the man liked his blood. Not that Engie didn't, but he preferred to see it from behind a nice wall of sentries.

Their base was still dark. Sniper didn't wait for him but followed Engie's snowy footprints back to the doors. "The others are all up, I reckon." Engineer said, jogging to catch up. Damn Slim's gangly limbs. "Medic was rousing them."

"Not who I'd want poking his nose into my dozing." Sniper stopped short, head snapping left and unslinging his rifle in one smooth movement. Engineer heard it as he was responding, the Gunslinger whirring to life- a whistling, well familiar.

The rocket left a fiery trail behind it, a comet clearing the barn tops, arc perfectly measured. There was nothing they could do but watch that burning star fall to earth.

And by earth, Engie meant Sniper's truck.


End file.
